The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (6 page)

“I know,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his fisted hands. “I’m sorry. Bear with me, okay? I’m a friggin’ train wreck here.”

Oh, I know how you feel
, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. The sting of my unrequited schoolgirl crush on Daniel wasn’t remotely comparable to Matt’s pain. So I sat with him, being his friend, drinking way too much beer and eating hideous junk food, all the while hoping he’d wake up in the morning with a rousing case of stage four—hung over as hell and swearing to never drink again but realizing there
must
be other fish in the proverbial sea.

Chapter 6

Spurned

Fair sir, you spet on me Wednesday last;
you spurn’d me such a day…
(
The Merchant Of Venice,
Act I, Scene 3)

W
HEN
M
Y
A
LARM
S
CREECHED
at seven o’clock the next morning, I strongly considered taking a sledgehammer to it. But that would have required effort, and I could hardly lift my head off the pillow as it was. What had possessed me to stay up until two in the morning drinking beer, eating crap, and watching Quentin Tarantino movies?

It hurt to move, but there was no getting around it. I had to be at work by eight thirty. I groaned and dragged myself out of bed, throwing on a pair of flannel PJ bottoms. Water. I needed water and I needed it now.

Stumbling out to the kitchen, I found Matt already up and sitting at the table with his head resting on his arms, three empty water bottles in front of him. By the time we’d finally decided to turn in the night before, he’d engaged in an eleven-hour beer-drinking marathon. He was virtually paralyzed by the time I helped him into bed and propped him on his side with pillows so he wouldn’t roll over onto his back. No wonder he was dehydrated.

I felt a nagging unease in my stomach, thinking about what he’d said the day before. Were things going to be weird between us? What if agreeing to go to Canoe with him on Valentine’s Day had sent him mixed signals?

But that’s ridiculous. We’ve gone out alone together many times over the years. Why should things be different now?

“Dude, what are you doing up?” I croaked. I grabbed a bottle of water and took a long drink. He grunted and sat up, chugging back water like he’d been in the desert for a week.

“I had to get up. My brain was screaming for Advil,” he groaned. “And I have the worst case of the zacklies.”

“What the hell are the zacklies?”

“You know, when your mouth tastes zackly like your ass.”

“Ew, that’s disgusting!” I laughed, then grabbed my temples as pain seared through my brain. “Oh, no. No laughing. Not good. Not good at all.” I downed the rest of my water and tossed the empty bottle into the recycling box. “I’m grabbing a shower. Hey, have you seen Jo?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Nah, she stayed at Stephen’s again,” he said, slumping forward onto his forearms with a moan.

I frowned as I made my way down the hall. Joanna and Stephen were spending a ton of time together, mostly at his off-campus apartment in the Annex. If her parents knew the residence room they were spending thousands of dollars on actually functioned as a walk-in closet and occasional study space, they’d be pissed. It wasn’t easy for me watching money being wasted while I was working so hard to put myself through school and racking up a healthy student debt in the process, but as my parents were so fond of reminding me, once I’d earned my degree, I’d have no one but myself to thank for it.

Unfortunately, I also had myself to thank for the crazy-ass headache beating in my temples. I washed down two Tylenol with a handful of tap water and then took a gloriously long, hot shower.

Afterward, I stood in front of my closet, contemplating my wardrobe as I planned out my day. I’d been rushed on Monday, running home to change before class. It would make more sense to wear something appropriate for work but not too over the top for class so I could skip the trip home in between. I opted for dressy black jeans and a snug chenille sweater—a perfect compromise.

When I emerged from my room, Matt was leaning against the kitchen counter, eating plain toast. I grabbed some snacks and an extra bottle of water for good measure.

“Sorry about yesterday,” he said. “I was out of line.”

“Chill, Matt, it’s not a big deal. I’m irresistible. It’s a cross I have to bear.” I smirked, purposely downplaying his concern. I pulled on my coat, remembering to grab mittens and a hat for later. After heaving my backpack onto my shoulder, I leaned around the corner to peer back into the kitchen, shaking my fist at him. “Do it again, though, and I’ll punch you in the junk.”

He smiled and shook his head. Thank goodness. We were cool.

“And get your ass to class today!” I yelled, pulling the door closed behind me.

My morning at work went by quickly. Dean Grant remained locked in his office, emerging only once to refill his coffee cup, while I dealt with a steady stream of walk-ins and caught up on unanswered emails. My stomach started to churn as I watched the hands of the clock creeping toward eleven thirty.

On Monday I’d been excited at the prospect of starting a new course, and this time yesterday I’d been eagerly anticipating seeing Daniel again, but after the dirty look he’d tossed my way the day before, I now felt ambivalent. Not that it mattered. Since there was no point pursuing him, it was best to get a grip and accept the reality of the situation.

Before knocking on Dean Grant’s door to tell him I was leaving for the day, I took a moment to pat myself on the back for
finally
thinking rationally.

My trip to class was much calmer without the frantic detour home after work to change. I even had time to swing by the Hart House coffee shop to grab a cup to go. I arrived in the classroom to find Julie sitting in a spot on the opposite side of the room, two rows back, directly across from the desk where Daniel would presumably sit again. I slid between the rows of desks to claim the seat beside her.

“Hey, girlfriend, how’s tricks?” Julie asked, helping me pull my coat off my arm and sliding it over the back of my chair for me as I juggled my coffee cup.

“Oh, I’ve had better days. Went on a bit of a bender last night,” I admitted.

“On a Tuesday night? I love you, Aubrey.”

“Not my usual Tuesday night ritual, believe me. Matt and his girlfriend broke up on Sunday night. He was drowning his sorrows and using me as a life raft. By midnight I think we both could have used some CPR.”

“Oh, poor Matt. Is he still a hunk of burning love? Maybe I can help him forget his sorrows,” she suggested, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Yep, still as hunky as ever, but a self-professed train wreck at the moment. I wouldn’t go near him with a ten-foot pole if I were you, Jul.”

She laughed and then bobbed her head toward the door. Professor Brown and his trusty protégé, Mr. Grumpy, were walking in together.

“He looks like he stopped at the Salvation Army on the way here to pick up that outfit,” Julie whispered, gawking at Daniel. “I’d still bang him in a heartbeat, though,” she added dreamily.

It was true. Daniel seemed to be getting more unkempt with each passing day. His hair was actually a little greasy now, and I tried to convince myself that his lapses in hygiene made him completely repulsive, but Julie was right. His scruffiness wasn’t a turnoff; in fact, I had a strange urge to take him home and give him a very hands-on sponge bath. Why was it that as soon as he was standing before me, any rational thought went straight out the window? Damn him!

He sat at the table and took out a notepad and pen while Professor Brown assumed his position behind the podium. I avoided making eye contact with Daniel, still reeling from the death stare he’d shot at me the day before. It turned out my efforts were completely unnecessary. He spent the whole time gazing blankly at the notepad in front of him. I couldn’t believe this was the same person I’d laughed and joked with the day before. Maybe he
did
have bipolar disorder!

I focused on Professor Brown, and as he was winding down his lecture, he turned to Daniel, asking him if he was ready to introduce the upcoming assignment. Daniel stood stiffly, and he and Professor Brown switched places. I shifted in my seat, stifling a yawn. How I was going to make it through my evening lecture was a mystery.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Well, as Professor Brown suggested on Monday, there’s a reason we’ve started our course reading with
Hamlet
.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a theater playbill, holding it up for the class to see. “Next week there’s a three-night run of a performance of
Hamlet
at the Hart House Theatre, and one of your first term assignments will be a comparative analysis of the text and this live performance of the play. It will be worth five percent of your term mark and my first assessment of your work.”

He paused to take a breath, and before he could proceed, people started whispering and several hands shot up around the room.

“I’ll take questions once I’ve explained how this is all going to work. If I don’t address your concerns, you can ask at the end, okay?” he said. “So, the play runs Wednesday through Friday nights…”

Again the restless muttering kicked in.
What the hell, people? Let him finish.

“What if you can’t make to any of those performances?” a guy called out from the back.

“If you’d let me continue,” Daniel said, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Professor Brown looked highly entertained. Julie arched her eyebrow, her mouth twisting in amusement.

“So, as I was saying,” Daniel resumed, “the play runs from Wednesday to Friday, and although it’s short notice, see what you can manage to arrange. However, if none of the three dates is an option, there is a performance of
Much Ado About Nothing
scheduled for later in the semester, and you can wait until then to do this assignment. You’ll have advance notice for those dates. That’s the alternative if next week doesn’t work.”

His explanation seemed to appease the grumblers.

“I have a block of tickets booked for each night, but I’ve been asked to confirm numbers with the box office and release the seats we won’t need. Please check your schedules and let me know what your intentions are by Friday’s lecture. Fair enough?” he asked, his eyebrows raised expectantly. “I’ll stick around for a few minutes in case anyone has any further questions, but I’ll be meeting with today’s seminar group shortly, so I can’t stay long.”

He turned to Professor Brown to give him back the floor. Again, the lack of oxygen in my brain forced a huge yawn from me. I couldn’t stifle this one. Beside me, Julie snickered.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is an excellent opportunity Daniel has arranged for you,” Professor Brown said. “I trust you’ll do what you can to adjust your schedules accordingly. Have a good day.”

He nodded his head conclusively, and people began packing up their bags. Julie turned to me with a bemused expression.

“Well, that was interesting,” she said.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Behind us, a group of people griped about the timing of the performances. Above the garbled complaints, Cara Switzer’s voice rang out shrilly.

“As if you’re gonna go see a play for class on a Thursday. I mean, it’s totally pub night all over campus. And there’s that huge party at the Kappa house on Friday, right? This is
so
not working for me. How about you, Lindsay?”

“Totally. Not gonna happen,” her idiotic sidekick agreed, examining her manicured fingernails.

Julie and I simultaneously rolled our eyes. “Do you want to try to go to the show together?” she asked.

“Sure. We’ll have to go Friday, though. I have class Wednesday night, then there’s the show at the Revival on Thursday, right?”

“Friday would work for me,” she said. Then she leaned forward to whisper, “And a certain frat party is conveniently scheduled at the same time.”

“Good point.”